


Who Tells Your Story

by j_ack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (for the most part), Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, I hate the finale and this is what happens, M/M, Sam Winchester-centric, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_ack/pseuds/j_ack
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night. And like all dark and stormy nights, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and wind howled. The house shook violently, groaning and creaking. Sam sat in bed, absentmindedly reading a book before a knock on the door catches his attention.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 27





	Who Tells Your Story

It was a dark and stormy night. And like all dark and stormy nights, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and wind howled. The house shook violently, groaning and creaking. Sam sat in his bed, his legs were covered by the warm, fluffy blankets. His wife’s side was vacant; she had taken a girl’s weekend with her sister and some of her friends to escape the rainy weather.  _ More like a potential disaster. _ The warm light of his nightstand lamp casted long shadows around the room. 

Sam flipped the page of his book, eyes scanning over the words absentmindedly. He sighs as he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His fingers brush over the pages, the fibers of the paper rubbing under his calloused fingertips. 

Less than ten minutes later, he gives up on reading. The plot of the novel is either flat and boring, or he just isn’t following it anymore.  _ And that’s twenty dollars down the drain, _ Sam thinks as he closes it, letting it sit in his blanket-covered lap. He slides his glasses off his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to stifle a headache. He picks up the book and places it on his nightstand, putting his glasses on top of it. 

He slips down and under the covers, turning on his side to turn out the lamp when he hears footsteps coming from down the hall. 

“Who’s there?” he calls out, hand ready to pull out a knife that was hidden in one of the drawers of his nightstand. Old habits die hard, and this was no exception. 

“Dad?” A small voice calls out, shakily.  _ Dean.  _ Sam releases a breath he hadn’t realized that he had been holding. He sits back up, propping himself up on his pillow.

“Yeah?” Sam calls back, concern lacing his tone. A frightened Dean opens the door, head lowered. “What’s wrong buddy?”

Dean shakes his head, fringe flicking into his eyes. He pulls it out of his eyes with the flat of his palm. “Can I stay here with you?” 

Sam smiles slightly, eyes weary. “Sure you can. Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” 

Dean pads over to the bed, looking at Sam with big eyes, shaking his head. Sam shrugs, too tired to force an answer out of his son. He helps Dean pull the covers back, smiling when the boy clambers up onto the bed, shifting in the covers. 

Dean lays back, dark hair fanned out around his head _ like a halo. _ Sam shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. 

“Hey Dad,” Dean starts, eyes peering up at Sam. “Can you tell me a story?” 

The question startles him and he doesn’t answer immediately, his face going blank. 

“Please, Dad?” Dean begs, his lower lip falling into a pout. Sam looks down at his son, unable to say no to his son’s puppy eyes. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says slowly. “But you have to go to sleep after. It’s late. Too late for you, mister.”

“I don’t have to leave, right?” 

“No, no. You can sleep here but--”

“I gotta go to sleep,” Dean finishes.

“Yep.”

“Okay, Dad.” 

“Not long ago, there was a man. He was an ordinary man who lived with his mom and his dad. When he was young, his mom died in a fire, leaving him and his dad all alone. They traveled all over, searching and searching for answers--”

“Answers for what?” Dean pipes up, eyes wide and curious. 

“For the fire, of course. Fires don’t just happen for no reason. In this story, there was an evil man who wanted to hurt the family. The little boy and his father never found out who set their home on fire. After years, the boy had grown into a man, and his father had died. The man had no other family and he continued his father’s quest of looking for answers for what happened to his mom. 

“Somehow, the man found himself trapped in a dungeon--the bad man’s dungeon. The orange light from the torches on the wall would flicker and make large shadows that seemed to move on their own. Screams would sometimes echo down the halls. The man was miserable. And he was very scared even though he never let anyone think that. But that didn’t keep him from looking for a way to get out. He tried over and over and over but he couldn’t get out, getting punished each time he tried to escape, even if it was only for food. 

“And when all hope seemed lost, an angel appeared. The angel claimed that the man had work to do--that he still had a purpose and needed to live. The angel rescued the man and brought him out of the dungeon and to a secret bunker. This bunker was magical and couldn’t be traced, you see, so they were very very safe there. 

“The angel nursed the man back to full health and then helped the man with his quest. It took them years before they found the bad man and killed him. They were very happy but the angel was weak now--it had taken a lot of energy to kill the bad man and the angel was dying. 

“The man gave the angel a hug and pleaded with him to stay with him. The angel sighed and said that they loved the man,” Sam pauses, trying to find words. “The man pressed his head to the angel’s head and said that he loved them too. This confession saved the angel… Neither one of them knew how, and they called it a miracle. Together, the two of them made a life with each other. The end,” Sam finishes, feeling anything but settled with the ending. 

Dean was mostly asleep by now, eyelids fluttering closed. Sleepily he asks, “Do you think they’re still happy, Dad?”

Sam looks down at Dean, eyebrows creased in thought. He allows a sad smile to appear on his lips, “I think they are very happy together, Dean. Goodnight buddy. Sleep well.” 

“Night Dad. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam says as he slides beneath the covers, turning the lamp light off before he does so. His eyes remain wide open even as Dean’s breaths even out and the storm outside turns to a light rain. 

Memories whirl around in Sam’s head in technicolor lights. Tears threaten to fall from his tired eyes. He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths and allowing himself to be lulled into sleep. It was a dark and stormy night, indeed. 

\--

Decades later, Dean is older and Sam has told the story more times than he can count--it had become a favorite. Sam had ignored the pain and added more to the story as Dean grew older, adding the demonic aspects of the story back into it, pushing past the regrets and the hurts that usually followed from mentioning his brother in the smallest capacity. Still, he had wanted his son to know his uncle, even if he never directly spoke about Dean. 

Decades later, Sam has lived a long life and he’s tired. He’s on Death’s doorsteps and doesn't think it will take much longer for him to die. It’s a comfort now, death; it’s no longer something that he fears. For the first time, he feels as if he isn’t losing anything from dying, like isn’t going to miss out on so much more if he dies. He feels content with his life, having lived it to the fullest despite the pits of sorrow and grief in his heart, now. 

He’ll see Dean and his mother again; them and everyone else that he has lost. 

His son walks into his room, footsteps echoing on the wooden floors in the mostly quiet room with the exception of the beeping monitors at his bedside. Dean’s dark eyes find his and crinkle slightly at the corners. 

“Heya Dad… How're you?”

Sam only shrugs in response. 

“Maybe this is a stupid question, but is that story you told me when I was younger--the one about the angel--is it real? I mean I know about angels and demons and other monsters, but is the story, is it real? I mean… you worked with some of them didn’t you?” 

In a hoarse whisper, Sam says, “Yes. Why?” 

Dean holds out a picture Sam hadn’t realized he had been holding. His eyes widen as he brings his hand out to gingerly brush over the faces in the photo. It had been a picture of himself, his brother, Cas, and Jack taken at the bunker. They were smiling, eyes warm and unusually bright despite some of the blood splatters on their skin or clothing. His stomach twists when he realizes that he can’t remember when the picture had been taken.

Dean starts to take the picture away. “Oh… Dad, please don’t cry. I’m sorry I’ll just put it--”

“No!” Sam rasps, afraid that he won’t be able to see  _ them _ anymore. “No. Please don’t. It’s been so long…”

“Who are they? I recognize Uncle Dean, but the other two. Who are they?” 

Sam clears his throat, wanting for the  _ first _ time, to talk about his life before he met his wife.

“Jack,” he says, pointing to a kid in a pair of light jeans and a coat. “Lucifer’s son. He was a nephilim, but the good kind. He’s God now. I haven’t seen him in a long time…” 

Pointing to the man in the trench coat, the sleeve dotted with blood, Sam says, “That’s Castiel. We--Dean and I, I mean--we always called him Cas. Dean gave him the nickname… That was his thing. Nicknames. Cas was an angel. He died trying to save the world… Him and Dean… They had a profound bond, as he liked to say. I think it had to do with the fact that he saved Dean from Hell. Cas loved Dean, and Dean loved Cas. It was obvious to anyone who really looked. In life, I don’t think they ever figured that out. Or maybe they did, but it was too late to change anything… Dean was a wreck afterwards.” 

Sam sighs. “So maybe the story isn’t really true. Dean had me and our father was never much of a father to the two of us. But the angel saving the man, that’s true. I’m not sure about anything else, though. Dean always wanted a happy ending though. I thought maybe if I could give him one--even if it wasn’t real, it would count for something. I wish he lived longer so that… Wish you’d met him.” 

Dean doesn’t say anything, just stands there for a while looking at the picture. He pushes the picture into Sam’s palm, eyes full of a million questions. 

“Thanks for telling me, Dad. Rest now.” Dean squeezes his wrist before leaving the room. Sam closes his eyes, old memories, tarnished with time, coming back to him in his dreams. 

Sam dies later that week, at peace with the world he has left behind and the one he is about to join. 

\--

Heaven is different from what Sam remembers. It’s all wide open spaces, trees rustling all around him--a far cry from the doors leading to different rooms like in a high class hotel or office like it had been. He doesn’t have the time to ponder much else because he sees Dean, standing at a bridge looking at a waterfall. 

“Hey Sammy.” Dean’s voice is warm and full of emotion as he tugs Sam into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Sam clutches at Dean. “I’ve missed you so much. Oh Dean... there’s so much that you’ve missed.” 

“I know, Sam. But I’ll meet the little guy someday.” Dean pulls away from the hug, beaming ear to ear. “Let me be the first to say--”

“Welcome to Heaven, Sam,” a gravelly voice says from behind him, interrupting Dean. Sam’s mouth drops open when he turns around to see Cas. Castiel looks well, eyes brighter than he remembers and still wearing his trench coat.

“Hey! You stole my line!” Dean whines, his smile still on his face as he walks to Cas, draping an arm over the angel’s shoulders. 

“No, I did not.” Cas says, looking pleased with himself while also dawning a facade of innocence. Smirking, Dean whispers something into Cas’ ear. Whatever he says causes Cas to retract his statement. 

“I stole your line.”

“Yes you did.”

“I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” Cas says in a deadpan that makes Sam laugh. 

“I’ve missed you guys.” 

“We’ve missed you too,” Cas tells him, a smile stretched across his lips. They all hug, a long, overdue embrace. 

When they step away, Dean looks at Cas conspiratorially. They hold a conversation with their eyes, exchanging no words before turning their eyes to look at Sam. 

“You know that story you told the little guy, yeah?” 

Sam swallows.“The one about the…?”

“The angel and the man. Really Sam, I thought you could’ve given us names or something, though. I didn’t go to actual  _ Hell _ to be called ‘the man.’” 

Cas snorts, ruffling Dean’s hair affectionately. “What he means to say is that you were right.”

“Right about what?” Sam asks, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it first. 

“About us, Sam,” Teasingly, Dean adds, “Dude, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. I mean, you were the one who went to Stanford.”

“Yeah and then my big brother came and said that we had to go hunting because our dad was missing. If I recall, I never graduated.”

“Yeah, but you got a  _ full ride scholarship.” _

“So? Doesn’t mean much now,” Sam says, crossing his arms. 

Leaning into Cas, in a way Sam has never seen Dean act like with anyone, Dean grins at him. “It’s good to have you here. You’ll love your house. It’s right next door to ours, but… I mean if you don’t wanna be so close to your family, I suppose that you could take that one house next to--”

“No!” Sam exclaims. “No, I want the one next to yours.”

They all smile, eyes alight with happiness and love. 

“Welcome home, Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Supernatural fic and I hope you liked it! I promise there is more to come.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.  
> [Tumblr](https://bladesnflannel.tumblr.com)  
> -J


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